I was beginning to realize what this was: he wanted more of the party girl. He was here to see the Beth who stayed out all night drinking, and kissing random girls and making out with handsome men.

Not me. Well, not the real me, anyway.

I slipped a finger through the tie of my robe, letting it fall open. I arched my shoulders, letting the material float down my shoulders. Goosebumps hit my arms as I stood there confidently. Inside, I was a screaming mess.

What the hell am I doing? What if he touched me? What if I freaked out?

Sure, I’d had plenty of sex since the rape, but none sober. I hadn’t let anyone touch me without being completely smashed first.

He stared at me for a moment, his eyes wandering over my curves as time seemed to freeze. I couldn’t read his expression, but the longer he stood there, watching me, the more I began to panic. Without saying a thing, he bent down and retrieved the robe, threading my arms back into it.

“I’m not here to fuck you, Beth.” He spoke softly, his hands running over the soft silk of my robe, down my arms to my fingers. I jumped back, both relieved and confused.

Well, this is embarrassing.

Missy lives in a small town in Central Victoria with her husband, and her confused pets (a dog who think she’s a cat, a cat who thinks he’s a dog…you get the picture).

When she’s not writing, she can usually be found looking for something to read.